


The Greatest Gift of All

by jdrush



Category: The X-Files
Genre: Christmas Fluff, First Kiss, Humour, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-24
Updated: 2019-12-24
Packaged: 2021-02-26 17:40:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,906
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21942271
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jdrush/pseuds/jdrush
Summary: Skinner has a gift for Mulder. . .and gets a gift in return.  Just a little Christmas story.  Hey, everyone else has written one – why not me?
Relationships: Fox Mulder/Walter Skinner
Kudos: 13





	The Greatest Gift of All

**Author's Note:**

> DISCLAIMER: These boys are owned by CC, FOX, and 1013.  
> AUTHOR'S NOTES: Another old holiday story from another old fandom. It's been so long I can barely remember the canon anymore. All I can tell you is it was written before the rebooted seasons, so just ignore anything after the 9th season. Happy Holidays, everyone!

December 24, 2001  
  
Ahhh, Christmas Eve. A time for peace on earth, goodwill towards men . . . and covertly leaving a present for your subordinate in his hallway. Well, at least that's what I was doing.  
  
Jesus, I couldn't believe Mulder still lived in this dump. After all the stories I've heard about Hagel Place (and some I've experienced first hand) I'm surprised he hasn't moved into an impenetrable tower somewhere surrounded by a moat and guarded by sentries. Everybody in the free world knew where Mulder lived, and most have broken in at one time or another. Hell, even I did it a few times. I think the only person in the tri-state area that hasn't picked his lock is Scully, and that's only because he gave her a key.  
  
But then again, Mulder is nothing if not obstinate. He's not about to be pushed out of his home, even though his home isn't much more than a shabby little apartment in a run-down part of town. It's his and no one is going to take it away from him. You've got to admire that in a person, and I certainly admired Fox Mulder – though you wouldn't catch me telling him that. Guy's got a big enough ego problem as it is. Still, there's a lot to admire about the man, and I do.  
  
Working with him these past eight years has been an experience, that's for sure. And not always a good one. We've butted heads on more than one occasion. Sometimes Scully would just sit back and enjoy the show. Other times she was forced to play referee, cutting in and breaking us apart before we came to blows – and even then, sometimes her efforts failed. There are days I really miss working with Agent Scully. At least John Doggett has turned out to be a good replacement for her, easily taking on the responsibility of being the voice of reason to Mulder's mad genius.  
  
I'm still not really sure when my feelings for Mulder started to change, when they went from 'admiration' to 'attraction'. I guess it was a slow, gradual thing. After all, if there was a lot to admire about Mulder, there was a lot to be attracted to as well. He's a very attractive man – not handsome in the classic sense, but damn good-looking. And underneath the looks, an amazing mind, a passionate personality, and a pure heart. He's a good man, a rare commodity these days, and you can't help but be drawn to that.  
  
Damn, I must've sat outside his building for an hour, watching his dark apartment, and debating whether I should actually go through with my plans. I mean, okay, so it was only a stupid Christmas gift, but still . . . I was making a statement. I was telling Mulder I liked him, that I was thinking about him outside the office. I didn't know if he'd get the message. Hell, I didn't even know if he'd appreciate the overture. I've never been entirely sure about his dating preferences, but sometimes, when we were alone in the office or out in the field, I'd swear he was flirting with me. Then again, he flirts with just about everyone. I doubt he's even aware he's doing it half the time – it's just a part of him.  
  
More likely than not, I was just deluding myself.  
  
I finally got sick of freezing my nuts off, so I got out of my car and entered his building, making my way up to the fourth floor. I was squatting down in his hallway, doing my best Santa Claus impression, when his front door suddenly flung open. I jumped back in surprise, almost falling on my ass. Mulder stood above me, holding a tennis racket in a very menacing fashion. He was dressed in only sweats and a t-shirt, looking sleepy and rumpled. The words were out of my mouth before I even realized I was speaking. "Practicing your backhand, Mulder?" I quipped.  
  
"I have to be ready in case Andre Agassi calls me for a rematch," he fired back with a grin.  
  
"It wouldn't have anything to do with you losing your gun again, right?"  
  
"I know exactly where my gun is," he countered. "It's with my cell phone."  
  
"Yeah, lost."  
  
"You know me so well."

"After nearly nine years, I hope so."

Lowering the racket, he leaned against the door-frame and asked, curiously, "What are you doing stalking around here this late at night, sir?"  
  
Yeah, even now, after everything we've been through, he still tends to call me 'sir' outside the office. Sometimes I wonder if he thinks 'sir' is my first name. "To tell you the truth . . . I didn't think you were home," I confessed. "I didn't see a light on."  
  
If he thought it odd that I'd happen to know that fact, he didn't comment on it. Instead he explained, "I was just catching a few winks. That last case was a real killer."  
  
"A serial killer, to be exact," I retorted. Getting to my feet none to gracefully, I apologized, "I'm sorry – I didn't know you were sleeping. I'll just let you get back to bed." I turned to go, anxious to get the heck out of there before anything else could go wrong, but it wasn't meant to be.  
  
A hand reached out, snagging my coat. "No, no – you came all this way . . . and I still don't know why."  
  
"I thought you'd be over at Scully's," I answered, sidestepping his question once more.  
  
He lowered his eyes and mumbled, "Nah – she and the baby are staying with her mom for the holidays."  
  
"And she didn't invite you?" That didn't sound like Scully. Even after all this time, I still didn't quite understand their whole complex relationship, but I knew three things: a) Mulder and Scully were really good friends, b) somehow, Mulder was the father of her child, and c) they weren't currently involved. For the moment, 'c' was the only one I cared about.  
  
"Yeah, she invites me every year – she hates me being alone for the holidays – but her brother, Bill, is flying in from California this time around."  
  
"And that's a problem?" I asked, confused.  
  
He looked at me, a mischievous twinkle in his eye, a smirk on those kissable lips. "Let's just say he and I have a nice long-standing feud going." Wrapping his arms around his chest, he inquired, "Are you going to come in, or would you rather we freeze to death in this hallway?"  
  
He stepped back so I could enter. Closing the door behind us, he wandered back over to the couch, which was strewn with a couple of pillows and a blanket. Pushing everything onto the floor, he took a seat, then invited, "Come on, make yourself comfortable."  
  
I hesitated a moment, taking in his apartment. He hadn't bothered decorating for Christmas, but that was hardly earth shattering news. Single, family-less men like Mulder and myself had no motive to bother with all the tinsel and glitter of the holiday season. It made gift-buying easy, as I only had to worry about getting presents for Sharon and Kim, but it also made things rather lonely, too.  
  
Realizing that Mulder was looking at me, waiting for me to make some kind of movement, I forced my legs to make the long journey to his sofa, and sat down beside him. I could feel my heart racing, being in such close proximity to him, and my palms actually started to sweat. Not the first time I've had such reactions around Mulder, and probably not the last. I tried my best to ignore all the emotions he was stirring up in me.  
  
It was silent for a minute before Mulder sighed, "So . . . are you ever going to tell me what you were doing crouching in my hallway at this time of night or what?"  
  
Should've known he wouldn't let go of that. Taking a deep breath, I began, "Actually, I just wanted . . . I mean, I got you . . . ." I stopped trying to explain, and instead reached into my coat pocket and removed the damnable gift that had gotten me into this mess. Holding it out to him, I mumbled a self-conscious, "Merry Christmas."  
  
Mulder stared at me wide-eyed as he took the package from me and stammered a soft, "Sir, you shouldn't have." He shook it, listening as it made a tiny clinking sound. "Animal, vegetable, or mineral?" he quizzed.  
  
"Why don't you open it and find out?"  
  
"May I?"  
  
I smiled indulgently. "Be my guest."  
  
He eagerly unwrapped it with an almost child-like glee. When he finally stripped off the last piece of paper and saw what it was, he started to laugh. " ' _Bride of the Monster_ '! Oh, God, – how did you know I love Ed Wood?"  
  
"I remembered seeing _'Plan 9_ ' on your video shelf when I . . ." I stopped, not sure how to finish the sentence. How many times had I come here, looking for clues into his disappearance? How many times had I wandered these rooms, trying to get into Mulder's head? How many times had I come up empty handed? Now was not the time to bring up such bad memories. ". . . Came by to feed your fish one day," I finished, lamely.  
  
Mulder laughed again. "Thank God for my friends or those poor little bastards wouldn't stand a chance." He turned the video over in his hands, then looked up at me. You've heard of smiles that light up a room? Mulder's would've lit up all of D.C. "Thanks, Walter. This was really nice of you."  
  
I shrugged, somewhat embarrassed by his excessive delight at such a small gesture. It WAS just a movie, after all. And don't think that it didn't register that he had called me by my first name, for a change. "Well, I saw it in a store and thought of you, that's all."  
  
"But I didn't get you anything," he said, glumly.  
  
"Hey, you're here, and alive. That's more than we had last year," I reminded him. "What better gift is there?"  
  
He ducked his head and blushed at that comment. Giving a quick look at video box, he looked back at me and asked, "How do you feel about cheesy sci-fi movies?"  
  
Against my will, I felt a broad grin spreading across my face. "I live for cheesy sci-fi movies."  
  
"You lying sack of shit." His playful grin took away any sting his words may have carried. "I'd offer something more to your liking, but Scully borrowed all my ' _Sex in the City_ ' tapes."  
  
I gave him a mock-glare. "I hate to disappoint you, Mulder, but that's not really my bag."  
  
He placed the video on the coffee table, then turned to me and whispered, "Hardly a disappointment, sir." Before I knew what was happening, he leaned forward, and cupped my face in his hands. "Never a disappointment," he reiterated. And then he was kissing me. That impossibly sexy mouth, which has tortured and haunted me daily for years, was finally crushed to mine. Lips softer and warmer than I could have ever imagined pressed gently against my own. If I had been prepared, I might have responded. As it was, I sat motionless, just soaking in the moment I had dreamed of, but never thought would ever happen.  
  
After a moment or two, he pulled away. "You just kissed me," I stated, still stunned.  
  
A pause before he responded, "I thought you wanted me to."  
  
I stared at him in amazement, and awareness hit me like a ton of bricks. "You know."  
  
"Well, I had a hunch." At my startled look, he added, "Hey, I AM a top-notch investigator, remember?"  
  
"And the legend of Spooky Mulder continues, huh?" I laughed nervously.  
  
Soft, easy laughter as he gently stroked my face. "First time?" he asked in sympathy.  
  
I shook my head. "No – just very out of practice."  
  
He nodded in understanding, his thumbs continuing to caress my cheeks. "Glad I'm not the only one." He leaned forward, kissing me again. This time, I relaxed into it, enjoying his technique. The man really was a great kisser. When we parted, both a little flushed and breathless, he remarked, "You know, I've got a lot of other movies hanging around . . . ."  
  
"Yeah, I've seen your infamous 'video collection'," I joked.  
  
"I DO have some legitimate movies too, you know," he protested. Getting to his feet, he gestured towards his bookcase and said, "Why don't you try to find something and I'll get us something to eat?" With that, he headed off towards the kitchen.  
  
I took a moment to regroup and process everything that had happened in the last 10 minutes. This was turning out better than I could have ever dreamed. Apparently, not only was Mulder accepting of my feelings for him, it seemed as if those feelings were being returned. It was still too early to know for sure, but just the chance – the hope – that it was true made my heart a little lighter.  
  
I spent a couple of minutes looking through his rather eclectic library before finding something that appealed to me. I had just thrown it into the VCR and was getting comfortable on the couch when he returned from the kitchen carrying a small TV tray with two glasses of milk and a plateful of Christmas cookies.  
  
"Interesting choice of movie snacks," I noted as took a seat on the couch and passed me the plate.

Shrugging his shoulders, he replied, "Frohike makes them every year."  
  
"FROHIKE?" I repeated, incredulously.  
  
"Uh-huh. Bakes like a hundred different kinds. I'm usually eating them until Groundhog Day." He handed me one of the treats. "Here. You've got to try the rum-balls. He won't tell me the recipe, but I've got a feeling rum is the only ingredient."  
  
I popped it into my mouth and felt tears come to my eyes. "Wow. That's really potent."  
  
"Tell me about it. And don't eat any bourbon squares if you're planning on driving or you could get stopped for a DUI." Just then, the beginning strains of "Jingle Bell Rock" filled the air. Mulder looked up, saw the opening credits of the movie I had chosen, and started to chuckle. _"Lethal Weapon_? Not exactly traditional holiday fare."  
  
"Hey, it's got Christmas stuff in it," I insisted.  
  
"Yeah, naked women jumping out of windows to the accompaniment of over-played novelty Christmas songs. Nothing says 'Happy Holidays' quite like it. Puts Bing Crosby to shame."  
  
"Oh, and Bela Lugosi fighting a fake rubber octopus would've been so much better?" I shot back.  
  
Now it was his turn to look at me oddly. "How could you possibly know that?"  
  
"I TOLD you I live for cheesy sci-fi movies, but you called me a lying sack."  
  
That earned me one of his rare hearty laughs. "Oh, man, I can see someone's going to keep me on my toes."  
  
"Somebody's has to," I deadpanned.  
  
It grew quiet between us as we chowed down on Frohike's outstanding cookies and watched Mel Gibson kicking ass. After a few minutes, Mulder turned to me and smirked. "Bet you never thought you'd be spending Christmas Eve like this huh?"  
  
"Beats most ways of spending it."  
  
"Horrible family reunions," he grimaced.  
  
"Lame office parties," I shuddered.  
  
"Warm eggnog, and the ten-thousandth showing of ' _It's a Wonderful Life'_."  
  
"Trying to find a tactful way of telling Kim that while I love her with all my heart, I really, REALLY hate her damn fruitcake."  
  
"Getting the shit scared out of you by two sadistic ghosts with too much time on their hands." He gave me a sheepish look. "Then again, maybe that's just me."  
  
I just shook my head – I really didn't want to know. "Seems like you and Ebeneezer Scrooge can compare notes."  
  
"No, he was visited by three ghosts," he corrected me.  
  
"Hey, you've seen one ghost, you've seen them all, right?"  
  
"And have you seen them all, sir?" he teased.  
  
"There's no such things as ghosts," I told him firmly.  
  
"Stick with me, Walter," he chuckled. "I'll make you a believer yet."  
  
I snorted. "You got your work cut out for you on that score, Mulder."  
  
"I just love a challenge," he assured me.  
  
"I'm sure you do."  
  
He reached over and stroked my cheek with the back of his hand, earning an appreciative little murmur. "You know, I'm really glad you came over tonight," he said, seriously.  
  
I raised my hand and brushed my fingers through his hair, curling around and cupping the back of his head. "Yeah, me, too." With the barest amount of pressure, I pulled him to me. Once more, his mouth found mine. Once more, I was amazed at the softness of his lips, and sweetness of his kiss. Emboldened by my consumption of Frohike's 100-proof confections, I gently licked at his lips until granted admission. Long minutes passed as our mouths and tongues got better acquainted – nothing frenzied, just slow and lazy and wonderful.  
  
Eventually, we were forced to come up for air. As we parted, he mentioned offhandedly, "I've got the three sequels, too, in case you're interested."  
  
I smiled. "Very interested."  
  
With that, he snuggled up against my chest and sighed, "Merry Christmas, Walter."  
  
Wrapping my arms around him, I kissed the top of his head, and replied happily, "It certainly is, Fox."  
  
THE END


End file.
